Sunday, August 22, 2010

I don't know why. I just got off work, I have to be there again in 7 hours. I should be sleeping. But instead, my mind is turning in on itself, thinking thoughts I don't want to be thinking. Feeling things I shouldn't be feeling.

In my dreams lately, the color dreams, I am being chased. Chased by a monster, a monster that bears down upon me, no matter how fast I run. In the dream, I keep creating these safe places. Such as, while attempting to hide in a house (that I know in real life) from this monster, I created this secret compartment, an underground safety room. I closed myself off, and promptly woke up.

Why do I always feel like I need to protect myself? Why am I always running? Why do I try to please every fucking person around me, then forget that I have needs and wants, too? Why do I put everyone before myself?

Why am I still fucking awake, typing on the computer, asking myself a million freaking questions?
There's another question right now.

I just want to make everyone happy. I want to make him happy. I try so hard.

Friday, August 20, 2010

I am a young boy, 13 or 14, and I am beyond thin. I am emaciated, frail, as are the other living skeletons around me. Determining anyone's age is impossible as they all look like 100 year old men. I probably look the same way.

We stand in a line, men in uniforms with guns herding us to a field outside of the barbed wire fences. Once in the field, terror grips my chest as we are all handed a shovel and commanded to dig.

Tears are burning down my face, and I know I am going to die. They do not ask people to dig holes and then take them back to camp. Smoke from the oven pours into the sky, blackening and polluting the air. All I want is to kiss my mother and have her hold me one last time. I am a little boy. I do not want to die.

In all too short a time, the holes are completed. They scream at us to get on our knees, and I comply, crying and praying and begging for salvation. There is none to come. I am the 4th person down, and they stand behind the first man, striking him in the back of the neck with the blade of the shovel. He falls in his shallow grave. I close my eyes and wait. There is an eternity before the next blow hits.

The second strike and then the body drops.

The third strike.

My turn.

In the dream, I feel the pain on my neck, and my body becomes paralyzed as I hit the bottom of my hole. Everything begins to blur, the dirt hindering my breath, until there is just black.

And then I wake up.

I don't know my name, the boy's name. Maybe if I knew that I would have something to go off of, prove to myself that it isn't real.

It isn't the only black and white dream I have, not the only recurring one. It's just the one that haunts me the most.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

This month is going to be a little tight for us.
Really tight.
I have tuition due for my last semester of college, along with rent, bills, and a court cost we won't go into detail about. The amount is hefty, and I am a little afraid of not getting everything paid.

This is the first time since I have moved out on my own (except when my ex cleaned out the bank account) that I have been tight on money. We have a plan of not going out much, not driving much, and living off of rice and beans for awhile until we can build back a financial safety net.

I am also considering other ways to make money... not all of them illegal. They include, but are not limited to:

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

I suffer from bulimia and body dismorphic disorder. I'm sure I have made that clear over many blog entries on this site. Cures exist, as we are told, but nothing has ever worked for me, up to date. Therapy, food journals, drawings, hypnotism... I think at one point I was a doctoral student's thesis paper. Nothing gives me the result I want. Which is to sit down at a plate of food and not feel guilt. To finish a plate of food and not immediately purge my body of its contents.

So when a friend of mine told me about a new program she was following, I was skeptical. I had gotten to the point where I felt nothing would ever be different, and I would just be dealing with this forever. I have gained weight from the worst times, I look healthy. I feel overweight and disgusting. But I can make myself eat. I can't always keep it down, but I do my best. I was ready to deal with it.

But this new program, well, its different from everything else I have ever tried. There are daily lessons, a regiment of food intake, and an internal support system. Oh, and it centers all of it around God, and healing yourself for His glory.

It has been a LONG time since I have been overly religious. I was raised Baptist. And that's how I phrase that to people on purpose. I was raised Baptist. I don't consider myself to be anymore. I was jaded by the "Christians" I was raised around in church. I haven't felt the need to practice an organized religion, but I do miss the fellowship.

And so I thought this was a good idea. Not only might I find a cure and healing, but I could maybe find that fellowship I missed from the past.

Tonight was the first night I went to a group meeting. Within the lesson, we discussed how God gives people second chances. Even third, fourth, or 60th chances. He wants us to serve a purpose, and we don't always follow the first time.

So now I am thinking, do I even deserve a second chance? Or I suppose it would be more like the 60th category for me by now. What warrants forgiveness?

This Is Me

A sequel, a continuation of a blog I started long ago that ended abruptly. God knows what you will find here. I write short stories, I write about my life, I give my opinions freely about the world around me. It'll be like South Park - anything goes. And just as satirical.